


Bloom

by PepperPrints



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:39:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,809
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperPrints/pseuds/PepperPrints
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were a stark contrast of one another, and yet they were so close, so narrowly separated.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bloom

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Français available: [Floraison](https://archiveofourown.org/works/900721) by [A (Majora)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Majora/pseuds/A)



> For the 30_kisses challenge. Prompt: Gardenia.

 

It was humbling, in a way, to see the small beginnings of things.

 

The movement in Africa was only made possible by _Sonnentreppe_ – the Stairway of the Sun – a flower native to this land which birthed the Progenitor virus. It was such a fragile thing too. Spencer had made this discovery years ago, but he had failed to harvest its full potential due to the delicate environment which the plants required to thrive. The cave was essential, and Spencer could not recreate its conditions. Wesker did not take so many bold risks in trying to duplicate the natural phenomenon; he came straight to its source instead, and he worked from here.

 

The Sun Garden had an exceptional beauty to it. The flowers were dark red, like dried blood, and they smelled like ash. As he had heard it, the tribes here considered this a sacred place. This was where they would choose who to lead: they would climb the steps and they would find out who was worthy by eating the plants. The survivor of the flower's toxins, its natural lethality, would be the chosen ruler. Wesker enjoyed the sound of that; it had an undeniable appeal: the chosen few rising above with the right to rule. Understandably, with such history, it took quite the effort to chase the tribes out of this place. Wesker preferred it like this: empty and full of the echo of the caves.

 

Not entirely empty, though. “It's very beautiful, don't you think?” Excella asked, climbing the steps to stand next to him. Wesker tipped his head slightly, but he did not do much to acknowledge her comment. “Such beauty flourishing from such a dark place.”

 

“Much like yourself?” asked Wesker mildly, drawing a soft laugh from Excella's lips. The praises were not at all heartfelt. Aesthetically, Excella was a considerably beautiful woman, as most common standards would define it. Wesker only noted this idly; his purposes with her were not at all of that nature, despite her obvious desires otherwise. He did learn early that such comments made her very cooperative, so he found it easier to indulge them than to deny her.

 

“Albert,” replied Excella, her tone a mock impression of offense. Her hand slid along the small of his back before she gently grasped his upper arm. “You must be very happy, now that you can succeed where Umbrella failed before.”

 

Happy was not the term Wesker would have chosen, but he supposed it would suffice. “It is early to begin celebrating,” Wesker pointed out. “These are small steps.”

 

Excella gave a sigh and waved her hand dismissively, the other still sliding up his arm. “You have nothing to worry about,” she assured, her voice smooth and silky. “Tricell will take care of everything you need...”

 

Her voice trailed off, and with that statement came heavy implication, her fingers inching near his collar. Wesker stepped away, as if he hadn't noticed the touch at all, and began descending the stairs. “Then I will leave you to it.”

 

Perhaps Excella had been stunned into stillness, since she did not follow right away. It was obvious that she was not a woman who was used to being denied, and Wesker hardly paid it much mind. Excella was not overbearing in her advances, so she could be tolerated, which was for the best. It would be too troublesome to delay his carefully laid plan because Excella felt too harshly scorned.

 

Outside the cave, there was a path which had been made for the ease of harvesting the flowers. It cut through a thin patch of jungle, and following along the path led down to the facilities where _Sonnentreppe_ was harvested. However, Wesker did not particularly feel inclined to return there just yet. Something in the jungle caught his eye, and he strayed from the path in search of it.

 

“Albert?” That would be Excella, finally having chased after him. He paid the call little mind, continuing along until he found what he reached his new discovery. This was another flower, very different from the Stairway of the Sun, and on the surface it seemed rather plain, but something about it seemed very beautiful.

 

The flowers grew in a thick patch, their petals a pure, stark white that stood out against the green – and against everything surrounding them, really. There was a sweet scent that spilled from the flowers, strong but not overly thick, and something about it seemed intoxicating. Wesker reached out and plucked one from the shrub, lifting it to his face. There honestly was no need to draw it that much closer to smell it – the sheer amount of the flowers here made the scent very strong – and yet he felt compelled. He held it up, close enough that his lips brushed across its petals, which were thin and incredibly soft... delicate.

 

“Albert!” sighed Excella, having finally caught up with him. She sounded taxed for a moment, before she realized just what he was doing, and it was replaced with eager intrigue. “Oh, what do you have here?”

 

“I'm not certain,” he confessed, allowing her to come up close beside him. She lay her hand on his wrist, urging the flower closer to her own face instead.

 

“Gardenia.” Excella smiled at him, her expression coy and playful. “It's native here in Africa, and it's incredibly symbolic.”

 

Wesker was oddly unsurprised. Every flower had a meaning, as far as his understanding went. “And what would that symbol be?” he inquired, uncertain why he found himself curious enough to ask.

 

Excella's smile spread, and her fingers moved to tease the one bare spot on his wrist between where his gloves ended and his sleeves began. “There's many things: purity, beauty...” She gave a pause, mostly for emphasize, before she continued. “But mainly love,” she concluded silkily, and Wesker found himself underwhelmed. What flowers did _not_ mean love, in some manner of gesture? His expression must have betrayed his lack of enthusiasm, because Excella gave him a chiding look. “Not just any love; _secret_ love.”

 

Wesker was uncertain why, but that small detail did seem to do a world of difference. He glanced down at it, and he found himself oddly introspective. Excella was full of smiles and suggestion, but she let him be after another teasing slide of her fingers across his arm.

 

“We should move along,” she admitted. “The samples must be transported quickly, you know.”

 

Wesker was aware of that, but he was not required for that task, so he thought little of lingering here alone. Perhaps Excella offered him the privacy since she expected some grand gesture to come of this, and Wesker supposed it would be a fair assumption to make, but she would be disappointed. Wesker had not even considered such a thing; his mind was elsewhere. He was focused on the gardenia.

 

It was so unlike the Stairway of the Sun back in the cave. Gardenia required light, rich soil and rainfall. Gardenia, which was white and fragrant, and then _Sonnentreppe_ , the color of blood and the scent of death... They were a stark contrast of one another, and yet they were so close, so narrowly separated.

 

How familiar that sounded to him... Wesker felt the corner of his lips quirk upward as he felt a certain inspiration.

 

Not just any love; secret love.

 

Wesker raised the flower once more, pressing his lips against its petals as he walked back towards the cave.

 

–

 

“What is this place?”

 

Whatever the answer was, Chris doubted that he would like it very much. The caves had led them down into a circular room, and at its center there was a stone monument that was raised up like an altar. The stone was old, worn, and it was overrun with the red flowers. The altar looked as if it was supposed to be for something important, but there was nothing else here – nothing except the flowers, that was, and maybe that was it. As he and Sheva followed the stairs up, Chris became more and more convinced that was the case.

 

“How can these survive underground?” Sheva asked cautiously, glancing at him with a frown, and Chris didn't like the feeling his gut was giving him.

 

“These are no ordinary flowers,” he concluded, frowning. “Let's see what we find.” He climbed the stairs higher while Sheva went down again, spreading out to search. The center of the altar held nothing but the tangled vines of the flowers. Chris circled around them, frowning, and he realized something: the smell of the dead was in this place. Chris thought it had come from the infected, but this was something else – this was the flowers.

 

Chris was about to turn back and join Sheva on the lower level, but something caught his eye. Against the blood red flowers and the dusty stone, the white stood out clear as day. He knelt down, picking up the one lone flower that had been left in the center of the path. It wasn't at all the same as the flowers on the altar. It clearly came from outside, but who had left it here?

 

“Chris?” called Sheva, obviously having noticed him crouched on the stone. “Did you find something?”

 

Chris hesitated for a moment before he stood up, moving back down the steps to join her. “Maybe,” he replied tentatively, and he held the flower forward. “There's this. It's not the same as the others.”

 

Sheva tilted her head, making no motion to take it from him. “I know that one,” she said, her frown deepening. “And I know for a fact that can't survive in here. I can't speak for these things,” Sheva made a gesture at the heavy patches around them, “but _that_ is an ordinary flower.”

 

“Yeah, I know,” muttered Chris quietly, looking it over. “It's strange.”

 

Sheva shrugged her shoulders. “Better keep looking,” she concluded with a sigh, and as she did just that, Chris found himself hesitating. He lifted the flower up and he sniffed it. It smelled so strongly, and it wasn't at all wilted, so it had to have been left here recently. It was too strange for it to be anything but a deliberate action.

 

“Sheva,” he began slowly, barely realizing just how closely he was holding it: his lips brushed against the petals as he spoke. “Do you know anything else about these flowers?”

 

Sheva was scrutinizing the other ones now, and she shook her head. “I can't say that I do,” she admitted with a sigh. “Why? Do you think it's important?”

 

Chris took a moment, lingering, and he quickly shook his head. “No,” he replied, and he let it drop from his hand to fall back against the stone. “It's probably nothing.”

 

Chris wasn't sure why he felt so strongly that it had been left for him.


End file.
